We Should Never Be Afraid to Die
by thegrumblingirl
Summary: "Say that again." "There's no chute, dammit!" Q's fingers went still, hovering over the keys. He was dimly aware of M stepping closer until she was right beside him at his desk. "Check underneath the other seat," she ordered, calmly, her quiet authority next to Q grounding him. James Bond/Avengers crossover. Sequel to 'Unintended.' Skyfall!verse.
1. Come Let the Revolution Take Its Toll

Verse: More of a Personal Statement series, sequel to 'Unintended,' probably another few months down the line.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I get nothing. Neither 007, nor the Avengers, nor the song I lifted the title/chapter titles from: Muse's 'Uprising.'

This is blatant fanservice, I'm serious. Based on this prompt. "And then they go on holiday together, Q and Phil have expensive wine by the fire; and James and Clint can chop wood, pretend to be super-manly, and try not to kill themselves doing it." Go on, go and thank Ch. (justfillinginfortheskull) for making me laugh so hard the decision-making part of my brain somehow obeys her every loving command. This is actually split into several chapters, so watch this space!

* * *

**MI6**

"Say that again."

"There's no chute, dammit!"

Q's fingers went still, hovering over the keys. He was dimly aware of M stepping closer until she was right beside him at his desk.

"Check underneath the other seat," she ordered, calmly, her quiet authority next to Q grounding him.

"I've checked the other bloody seat, there's nothing," Bond barked, his voice betraying only anger. No panic, no desperation, none of the things crawling their way up Q's spine. He snapped into action, his fingers flying over the keys, calling up a 3D model, calculating the figures, the curve Bond's flight would take, the speed he would achieve. Bond was currently suspended in flight in a previously satellite-controlled freight plane packed with explosives that had been supposed to crash somewhere terribly important. Having overridden the satellite signal, Q had instructed 007 to take the plane as high as possible, set it to autopilot, and then jump out so he could be collected by Felix Leiter; so the plane would safely detonate somewhere over the Pacific _without him in it_. And now, Bond had to get out of the plane at a height at which, without a chute, survival was unimaginable. Sending in a fighter plane to pick him up would take too long, he only had two more minutes before the timer activated. Still, Q forced his mind to work, to try and give Bond something that he could use to maximise his chances, flight manoeuvres that would slow him down, maybe enough to—

"I can still hear you typing, Q," Bond's voice came in over the speakers, dangerously calm now. Q bent his head lower over the keyboard, aware of all eyes in the lab focused on him, and kept at it. Beside him, M was silent.

"Q, stop, it's no use. I'll reach the earth in some form or another, let's leave it at that. Permission to jump, ma'am? I'd rather not draw this out," Bond addressed M.

"Permission granted, 007."

Q's typing slowed, until it eventually stopped, his head still lowered, staring at his fingertips, unseeing.

"Right, then. It's been a pleasure." A pause. "I'm sorry, Q."

Q's head snapped up. "For what?"

"For not packing the HAZMAT suit."

Q heard the tell-tale crash of a plane-door being kicked off its hinges, and then all there was left was crackling static. No-one moved to kill the feed as they heard the air rushing past Bond as he fell. The schematics on Q's screen changed; still showing the pulsing dot that was 007's GPS signal, but where before there had been steady horizontal progress, there was now only one direction left: downwards, with gaining speed, nothing to break his fall but the gaping Pacific Ocean thousands of feet below. Bond wouldn't have heard anything over the noise in his ears, but still no-one moved or spoke; in deference to witnessing the best they'd ever had die on a sunny day in June, saving a world that never even knew he existed. Q absently noticed a hollow, dull ache spreading inside of him, and he realised that his own crash wouldn't come until long after James had broken the ocean's surface. He wanted to scream, wanted to shout, 'No, don't you dare!', but it was too late for that, it was too late for everything.

* * *

**SHIELD Helicarrier**

The SHIELD Helicarrier was high up in the air above the Pacific, just… hovering. There were no extra-terrestrial threats or other crises to be dealt with, and the only thing they had to keep an eye on was a plane passing over them, en route across the ocean. The sensors had picked up on its unusual cargo as soon as it came in range. They had tapped into the plane's system and found that it was being set to autopilot away from American soil; and that, even at full capacity, the fuel wouldn't carry it anywhere across land.

"Do you want to take it down?"

Agent Hill tapped her fingers on the railing in front of her. "Is there anyone on board?"

"There's one source of heat, moving around."

"Well, assuming they're the ones who set the plane to autopilot, let's give them the benefit of the doubt. If this is another agency's mission, we can't interfere and give up our position. Let it play out."

They kept monitoring the plane, hanging back in case something went wrong, but when alarms signifying a perimeter breach started going off in the middle of what Fury mockingly called _lunch_, that was the last thing Maria was expecting.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Something is coming at us at high speed!"

"You don't say! From where is what I wanna know!"

"Well, from… up, from out of the plane. It's plummeting down."

"Care to tell me what it is?"

"It's, uh. It's the heat source. It's a man."

"Does he have a chute?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"Shit. Whoever he is, we can't just let him drop. Cushion him. Now!"

* * *

**MI6**

"He's slowing down." As Q's voice broke the silence, it was as if someone had smashed one of the glass desks with a sledgehammer. "Something is slowing him down."

"How is that possible?" M demanded. Haltingly, Q's fingers stirred, slowly hitting keys, picking up speed as he triple-checked the GPS signal, checked the radar readings, and found, quite simply, nothing. There was nothing there. And then, Bond's descent stopped in mid-air and his signal disappeared.

SHIELD Helicarrier

Behind Hill, the doors slid open, revealing most of the Avengers, bouncing on their feet, and Coulson, roused by the alarm.

"What happened?" Phil asked, sidling up to Hill at the helm. Hill called up the image the outside cameras were feeding back to the bridge. A man in a battered suit was being lowered to the surface of the deck, snugly encased in a force field. Hill zoomed in to get a good look at his face while the system was already busy ID-ing him.

"Do you recognise him?"

"No idea," Phil replied, "but he sure looks like hell."

"We got an ID!" someone called, and a profile popped up on Hill's screen.

"Aww, shit."

"Who is it?" Behind them, Banner nudged Stark to keep quiet, but Phil turned and addressed them.

"It seems we have stumbled into the path of one James Bond, MI6 agent 007 of Her Majesty's Secret Service."

"James Bond?" Everyone turned and started at Clint, who looked… excited. "_James Bond_ just went splat on our deck?"

"He didn't go 'splat,' which is sort of the point, Barton," Coulson corrected him, drawing up a brow. "You know him?"

Clint shrugged. "Not really, I just met him a couple of years ago, before working for SHIELD. We ended up chasing the same guy."

"Who got to him first?"

Clint smirked. "We took turns."

"Not to cast aspersions on your reminiscences," Hill interrupted, "but what's my priority right now is, is he good?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah, yeah, he's good. It's a lucky thing he dropped down on top of us, they'd miss him."

Hill took a deep breath. "If you say so. Alright, bring him in, get him to medical, and tell me when I can talk to him. See if he's got anything in the way of communication on him; we need to get a line to London about that plane he dropped out of. If it's a mission accomplished, we can't do anything about it, but if they need help, they're gonna want it soon."

They watched on the monitors as the unconscious agent was being collected and brought under deck, when high in the air above them, an explosion ripped through the air.  
"Let me guess, the plane blew," Hill deadpanned as snickers could be heard from behind her. "Well, that's one problem off the list."

* * *

**MI6**

"Where the hell is he?"

"I'm trying to get a connection on the comms, but there's nothing." Q turned to M for the first time since she'd come in, his wide eyes wild behind his glasses, which M filed away for later. Other things were more important now. They had distractedly registered the plane going up in smoke, and now Q didn't know what to do with himself, either, except try and gather as much information as possible, fingers trembling with what felt suspiciously like hope.

Suddenly, the comm link crackled back to life, and they could hear the clamour of people talking over each other before the calm, steady voice of a man came over the speakers.

"MI6? This is Agent Coulson of SHIELD. I believe we found something that belongs to you."

When 007 came to, he was dimly aware of, mostly, a lot of pain.

* * *

**EIGHT HOURS LATER, Stark Tower**

"This is a disaster!" Fury fumed, pacing just outside medical.

"To a certain extent, absolutely, sir," Coulson agreed.

"And what the hell does that mean?"

"What Agent Coulson is studiously not mentioning, Director," Tony piped up from where he was leaning against the wall, "is that it's also the most hilarious thing that has happened on this flying paperweight for about a month." Fury's eye fixed him with a glare. "What? Come on, how often do we get gorgeous British secret agents drop out of the sky just to crash onto our helipad? It's a story for the grandkids."

Whatever biting reply Fury had in store for that was cut off when a door to his left hissed open, admitting M, Tanner, and a bedraggled-looking Q.

"Director Fury, I presume," she said, fixing Fury with a critical stare.

"Ma'am," Fury greeted her, inclining his head while shaking her hand. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I want to see my agent first. And then I want you to tell me what colourful assortment of employees that is," M retorted, nodding her head to her left, and Coulson and Clint exchanged a look as Fury seemed to shrink a little in front of her.

"Of course. Right through here."

M stepped towards the door to medical, glancing back at Q, who Tanner was discreetly keeping a concerned eye on. Q shook his head minutely, and M nodded, then disappeared.

"So, what's the score, gentlemen?"

"Tony, shut up."

By the time M entered the curtained section of the med bay Bond was kept in, he was already halfway through a list of all the expletives he could think of in various languages. What exactly he was swearing at was a little hazy, but he figured he had good enough reasons; the needles sticking out of his arm chief among them. He _hated_ hospitals.

"Hello, 007," came a voice he'd never thought he'd hear again, and for the first time since he'd known her, she seemed unsure of what to say.

"Hello, M. I feel horrible, and astoundingly alive. Anything to enlighten me?"

"You landed on the SHIELD Helicarrier."

"SHIELD?"

"Remember Iron Man?"

"With a cringe or two."

"SHIELD is where the Avengers Initiative hails from. We're at Stark Tower, which is, apparently, where they all live."

"Oh, good God," he groaned and thumped his head into the pillow. "A tower full of funny costumes."

"Quite. James—" Bond looked up and found the hint of a smile. "Count your blessings on this one."

Bond smirked, but nodded. Looking about the room as if only just noticing that something, or, rather, someone, was missing, he asked, "Where is he?"

M registered the panic rising in his eyes, and filed that away for later, too.

"Just outside. I'll send him in."

"Thank you."

Two minutes later, Q was standing at the foot of James' bed, staring, raking his eyes over cuts, bruises, and bandages; looking anywhere but at the blue eyes he knew were boring into him.

"Q. Look at me." Q shook his head, lowering his eyes. James reached out his needle-free arm. "C'mere, then." Eyes still cast at the ground, Q stepped around the bed and walked closer, starting when James grabbed his wrist and tugged at him until he sat down on the bed next to Bond's hip. James stroked his thumb over Q's pulse, waiting for him to talk. Eventually, Q cleared his throat, watching James' thumb as it drew patterns on his skin.

"A lot of agents have been caught in life-threatening situations over the past years. Many, I could save; some, I had to watch while they perished. It's a short list, but it's gotten far enough that it is a list." Finally, he looked up, and when their eyes met, James felt like he was back out there, falling faster and faster, before he snapped himself out of it, anchoring himself to Q's intent gaze. "I feel like I'm betraying my work and their memory, but I don't want you on it."

Straining against his protesting muscles, James sat up, shifting his hand to grip Q's collar, pulled him in, and crashed their mouths together.


	2. Rise Up and Take the Power Back

A few hours later, everyone had gotten used to the basic concept of each other's presence in the common room. Tony had from the start insisted that at least Bond should stay until he was fit for service again, but had extended the invitation to all present MI6 personnel. Especially Q, though originally just because he had caught the Quartermaster and 007 making out in medical—he had been even more insistent, however, after he'd learnt what being the Quartermaster actually entailed.

"You have to meet JARVIS," he'd enthused, Q raising his eyebrows and the remaining Avengers giving Tony a fondly irritated stare that one would direct at an over-excited puppy, jumping up and down and yapping at the ball.

"Tony, let him breathe," Steve admonished him quietly, giving Q a kind smile over Tony's shoulder, trying to steer the Stark genius away.

"Oh, I assure you, he's quite fine without too much air," Tony smirked.

"Stark!" Steve scowled and mouthed, 'Sorry!' at Q, now definitely using force to get Tony out of the room. When they were just out the door, Tony turned.

"What?"

"Tony, remember how you caught them kissing? And how that seemed like a big deal, to them?"

"Yeah. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that that poor guy nearly lost someone today. I'm saying, give him a break before dragging him off to the lab to show him all your toys."

"I know, Cap, I know!"

"Then act like it! And why am I out here talking sense into your skull instead of Banner?"

Tony seemed to deflate right in front of his eyes. "Because it was too close a call last time and Bruce and I still haven't talked about that; and if I think too hard about what Bond and the kid went through today, I'll be no fun to be around."

"You're a mess."

"Like you can talk. You still haven't asked Pepper out."

Steve threw his hands in the air, turned around, and moved to walk back into the common room. Just before the doors swished open to admit him, he turned. "Come back when you're ready to take care of him," and Tony knew he wasn't talking about Q.

* * *

"This is kinda cute."

"He's an overgrown Golden Retriever with the voice of a metathron."

"So? She seems to like him."

"He's the most polite Norse demi-god on the entire planet—she's British and a lady, of course she likes him."

Natasha, Clint, and Phil were watching in amusement as Thor introduced himself to M; while Tanner went over the specifics with Director Fury and Agent Sitwell. Steve joined them, merely sighing when Phil asked him about Tony.

"He's fine, he just… needs a push."

"Yeah, a push off the roof a really, really tall building. And without his suit on," Clint muttered under his breath, though the gruff edge to his voice revealed that he was concerned rather than truly murderous.

"And the kid?"

"Bruce is talking to him, I think, until Bond's out of medical. He should be here in a bit."

Phil nodded, surreptitiously leaning into Clint. "They'll have a lot to talk about."

Clint looked at him from the side. "Speaking from experience, Agent Coulson?"  
"I know you don't get tired of reminding me that it was me who scared the shit out of you last time, but there's no good reason for you to sport that shit-eating grin, Barton," Phil shot back. Steve and Natasha endured the flirting by silently counting down from 100. In Mandarin.

* * *

Normally, there would be doors crashing into walls by now, but as Q and James made their way through their appointed apartment in Stark Tower (ok, so Tony had officially given them two separate sets of quarters, but had discreetly mentioned that Bond's, facing east, were definitely the nicest of them all), lips locked in a breathless kiss and hands tearing at each other's clothes, JARVIS anticipated their intentions by simply flinging open the bedroom door before they were half-way across the living room. James pulled away for air and to gently take off Q's glasses, put them on the first flat surface he could find, then cupped Q's cheeks with his hands and swooped in to kiss him again. Q finally had all the buttons on James' SHIELD-issue shirt worked open and was about to start on the buttons of his jeans when he suddenly stilled, lightly pushing against James' chest.

James moaned a soft complaint against his lips, then leaned back, searching Q's face. "What is it?"

"Are you sure?" was all Q asked, and James knew what he meant. He meant M being in the same building, along with a dozen of SHIELD agents they'd been forced to trust blindly, the Avengers bloody well assembled all around them… and, yeah, James was sure.

"I want you, right here and right now," he growled. It was as far as he got before he was yanked down by the collar of his shirt and Q kissed him, licking into his mouth the way he knew drove Bond crazy.

They made it into the bedroom without any more talking, but actually shedding their clothes, so they eventually ended up on the far side of the bed, completely naked; both of them so high-strung with arousal that 'making it last' seemed just about as likely as the Earth turning backwards for a laugh. Again, Q slowed them down by taking a step back, running his hands over James' torso, just touching. Knowing that it was alright to touch and knowing that this was real were two entirely different things, and James felt a shudder go through him at the thought. Q carefully avoided the butterfly bandages covering a few cuts on Bond's collarbone. He wasn't badly injured and Q had certainly seen worse after several missions, but even so, after today, minor abrasions were more than just that, they stood in for what could have happened, not just what did.

James put his hands on Q's waist, slowly drawing him closer until they were standing chest to chest, hip to hip, their erections brushing. He closed his eyes and bent his head so his mouth was grazing Q's ear as he spoke. "Right here, right now. What do you need?"

Half an hour later, James was lying on his side, with Q wrapped around him from behind, slender chest pressing against his broad back, and slowly working him open with slick fingers. (Of course Stark had somehow stashed lube and condoms in their bedside table: no-one was ever going to claim he wasn't the perfect host.) His right hand splayed on James' chest, he kept him in place as he tried to push back on Q's fingers, groaning, trying to quicken the pace.

"Easy," he murmured low into James' ear and the agent settled down, though his breathing quickened at the simple command. "That's it," Q encouraged him and added a third finger, earning a gasp and a broken moan; and he knew he couldn't draw this out any longer without tipping himself over the brink into utter insanity. He pulled back and turned slightly, but before he could complete the movement, Bond reached out and caught his wrist.

"Don't… without… please," he panted, and Q hesitated.

"James, it's—"

"I'm clean, you're clean, you're the only one, and I really need you inside me right this minute!" Stringing this sentence together coherently took a lot of effort, and James leaned his head back against Q's shoulder when he was finished, closing his eyes.

A wave of arousal he really hadn't seen coming strummed through Q, and he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to James' shoulder before aligning their bodies, nudging James' opening with the head of his cock. James lifted his thigh to drape it over Q's legs to grant him better access, and when Q pushed into him in one long, smooth stroke, for a second neither of them could breathe. The seconds turned into what felt like minutes, both just pulsing against each other; shivers running through James' muscles that then travelled across Q's skin.

Finally, Q started moving, slowly, building up his thrusts; all the emotions he had held in until now warring for dominance. Possessiveness and lust and need made him tighten his arm around James' torso and snake his left hand down to grasp his erection, stroking him in time with the movement of their hips; anger and desolation and fear made him go harder, faster, until all he knew were James' increasingly hoarse shouts in his ear as he matched Q thrust for thrust, pressed back against him, urging him on, giving everything and demanding more. His left hand had found Q's arse, grasping, pulling, his right curled so tightly into the pillow underneath his head that the knuckles were standing out, glowing white against his flushed skin.

James came first, tightening around Q so suddenly that he nearly startled him into climax along with him, their bodies riding out the aftershocks with their minds still lost in the haze of what had just happened between them. Slumping into the covers, James tipped forward, with Q coming to lie draped across his back, both catching their breath. He carefully slid out of him, then reached down to bring up the duvet they'd had the good sense to kick to the foot of the bed, and pulled it over them. Meanwhile, James had turned, entangling their legs, and was now reaching for him, smiling. Q let himself sink against him and their lips met in a slow, patient kiss.

Eventually, they had to wordlessly agree that more kissing wasn't helping with bringing their heart rates down, so James tucked himself against Q, face pressed into the crook of his neck, hands stroking up and down Q's back.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Avengers, plus one Agent Coulson, slightly squished between Clint and Thor, were slowly merging into one giant lump covering the sofa in front of the flat screen TV, watching baseball and being generally quiet, for once. They had all looked up when Bond had come in, freshly released from medical and dressed in borrowed clothes, and Clint had nearly gotten up to greet him; but the British agent had made a beeline for Q and they had all thought better of bothering him. Bruce and Tony—who had come back in to help distract Q—had quietly excused themselves after Tony, with a wink, handed each of them the key codes to their rooms. James, whose eyes hadn't left Q, had nodded his head in M's direction, who had been diligently ignoring his arrival, and Q had shrugged; so before anything got in their way, they had swiftly left the lounge, heading down the corridor. Tony and Bruce had come to join the others, quietly settling into their customary corner of the couch.

M, Tanner, and Fury were seated at a table across the room, talking.

"How do you cope with them?" M asked, giving the sprawling collection of superheroes a side-long glance.

Fury gave a snort. "Easy: I don't, I let Coulson handle most of the crap. But you gotta know what it's like, you have more 00s than I have Avengers; and now that I've actually met one of them, oh boy..."

"In number, yes, but Bond is by far the most spurious of the lot—you have at least three carrying the kind of ego he's got," she countered, assessing Fury's agents from a distance.

"True. Still, most of the time I've got them in one place, and Coulson is holding them together—by a thread, sometimes, but there you go." Looking further across the room, he frowned. "Huh. Your boys there disappeared."  
M smiled into her tea. "Yes, they do that."

"Why did you bring the kid? Your Quartermaster? He doesn't strike me as the kind to spend much time out in the field."

"I brought him because someone needed to collect Bond's communication devices and weapons; and considering the nature of this trip, I needed that someone to have the appropriate security clearance," M's eyes narrowed a little, and Tanner next to her had to fight not to bristle. Raised hackles in a room full of walking weapons were a bad idea, and M's Chief of Staff was nothing if not practised at keeping his cool at intrusive questions.

Fury nodded and, to show that he hadn't meant to provoke her, continued quietly, "I'm glad to hear it. What I meant is, how do you handle it? I've got a few problems of my own with those idiots over there."

Relaxing minutely, M thought for a moment before smiling again. "Easy: I don't. I let them work it out."

"And if they fall apart?"

"Then they'll have to pick up the pieces. But, Mr Fury…"

Fury inclined his head. "I'm listening."  
"They won't. They know they can't, not anymore. Not after all of this."

Fury nodded again, slowly. "Maybe not." Suddenly, a grin spread on his face. "Provided we can keep the CIA out of it: what would you say to a joint mission sometime?"

* * *

"Thank you, Mr Odinson," M said as Thor set down a mug of coffee in front of her, smiling happily since he had finally found someone who was as much of an early bird as he. M was surprised when the door opened and the next to step through were Q and Bond.  
"Good morning, gentlemen," she greeted.

"Ma'am," an exhausted-looking agent and a sleepy Quartermaster greeted back, doing their best not to _shuffle_ up to the counter. Thor, who had finally bullied Tony into letting him use the coffeemaker, got two more cups from the cupboard and cast them a concerned look. Before he could say anything, however, the doors opened again and Clint breezed in, grinning when he saw James.

"Bond, you shithead, remember me?"

Bond turned, his eyebrows climbing up to his hairline when he recognised him. "Barton? What the hell—you're Hawkeye. Huh, I never got enough of a good look at you in the footage to make the connection; but I thought there was something about your MO that was familiar," he said, shaking Clint's hand.

"Yeah, well, couldn't roam the world forever. SHIELD is a good place to be, but don't tell Coulson I said that."

"Scout's honour."

Clint winked at him, then nodded at M before turning to Q. "Hey. You ok?"

Q nodded his head, smiling slightly, and Clint clapped him on the back. "Tony's going to want to kidnap you and show you the lab today; just hide behind Banner when it gets too much."

The morning more or less continued in this fashion, with various Avengers coming through and offering advice (Bruce), words of welcome (Steve), or, in Natasha's case, an invitation to spar as soon as Bond was fully healed and a few questions about weapon concealment for Q, along with a ruffle of his hair that prompted Clint to give them a thumbs-up. Tony did indeed pester Q about coming down to the lab. Coulson later found him in the otherwise empty common room, apparently talking to himself; but when he entered through the doors, it became clear that Q was, in fact, conversing with JARVIS.

Phil shook his head and went to make himself a strong espresso. The paperwork dealing with the previous day's incident was catching up with him, and he wanted to get through it today.

When he turned back, the MI6 Quartermaster and Stark's AI had finished talking, and Q smiled at Phil with a sheepish look on his face.

Phil smiled back. "It's alright, I sometimes talk to him, too." He sat next to Q, resolving the paperwork could wait for a couple of minutes. "How are you doing? And, I'm sorry; if this is the hundredth time you've been asked that today."

"I'm fine, thank you."

"What do you think?" Phil asked, indicating the general vicinity with a jerk of his head.

"Well, Mr Stark is truly a mad scientist, Dr Banner is brilliantly dangerous as well as dangerously brilliant. Steve and Thor are the kindest men and demi-god I've ever met, Black Widow scares me, frankly, but she seems to think of me as a lost puppy, so I think I'm safe; and Clint appears like the only one who hasn't lost track of everything in all the chaos yet."

Phil laughed, nodding. "Yes, that about does it."

"You're their handler?"

"Yup."

"All of them?"

Again, Phil nodded.

"My condolences," was all Q said, and Phil chuckled.

"It's not that bad. Besides, you know what it's like, keeping an eye on your agents and multiple targets on their missions."  
Q shrugged. "They just seem like a handful."

"Oh, that they are." Phil looked at Q from the side, wondering whether he should say anything. In the end, he did, if just to offer some solidarity. "And I know what it's like when one of them is especially important."

Q looked up at him, surprised, but said nothing.

"Barton," Phil explained quietly, and Q's eyes widened. "It's been three years now... Clint has been with SHIELD for four and a half. He came in just after he'd accidentally worked with 007, actually. How long have you..?"

"Eighteen months," Q replied quietly. "We got together right after the first mission." He smiled, almost sadly. "It wasn't supposed to mean anything, but when he didn't push me away…" Q trailed off, and Phil frowned.

"Are you still waiting for that to happen?"

"Shouldn't I?"

Just in that moment, Bond came in through the door, his face brightening instantly when he found Q. (_He must have talked to Clint_, Phil thought idly, _to tolerate my presence._) 007 made his way over, but while he was still out of hearing range, Phil leaned towards Q and murmured, "No, I don't think you have to."

* * *

**TWO MONTHS LATER, MI6**

"007, that was the most moronic idea you have ever had, and that is saying something!"

"It worked, didn't it?"

People in the lab behind Q instinctively ducked as another explosion sounded over the loudspeaker—Q had ripped the comms out of his ear half-way through.

"I should have never agreed to letting you and Tony handle this," Q snapped, fingers twitching above the keys as he tried to decide where to start cleaning up this latest mess.

"Too late," came Stark's voice over the connection, booming smugly; and Q had reached for the phone and tucked it between his shoulder and his neck before he could really think about it.

"_Coulson._"

"Phil? I need a holiday."

"_Agreed. Question is, do we take our idiots with us?"_

"If we don't, they'll end up blowing themselves up. Again."

"_True. Worst thing that can happen on a holiday is, they kill themselves chopping wood, pretending to be super-manly._"


End file.
